‘It’s probably nothing,’ Rebus told her. Then: ‘Have you had a chance to speak to Dempsey yet?’
‘Not quite, but she’s in the building somewhere.’
‘And you reckon you’ll be back down here tonight? Want to meet for a drink?’
‘Not a session, mind — just a drink?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I’ll call you.’
‘I’m happy to bow out if Page makes a counter-offer.’
‘Goodbye, John.’
He smiled at the phone and dropped it back into his pocket. The barman was standing behind the IPA pump, ready to offer a refill, but Rebus shook his head and left the pub.
At SCRU, Bliss and Robison helped him empty the car, Robison asking the same question Esson had: were the files going to Inverness?
‘Quite possibly,’ was all he said in reply.
At the very moment they deposited the last box on the floor, and stood up to wipe the sweat from their eyes and get their breathing back to normal, Daniel Cowan walked in from some meeting or other, looking both more dapper and more generally pleased with himself than ever.
‘I’m not one to criticise,’ he told them, ‘but isn’t our strategy to empty this office rather than fill it?’
‘The A9 case,’ Rebus informed him. Cowan looked suddenly interested, and even ran a finger along the edge of the topmost box. The A9 was a real investigation, current, live and in the news. There was a momentary longing in Cowan’s eyes: he wanted it and could not have it. Moreover, if he took on a role at the Crown Office Cold Case Unit, he might never work a contemporary inquiry again.
‘I was just going to treat the troops to a Kit Kat in the canteen,’ Rebus said.
‘I’m not invited?’ Cowan asked.
‘I thought you’d want to stay put and make the phone call.’
Cowan looked at him. ‘What phone call?’
‘To Inverness — letting them know the files are here when they want them.’
Cowan’s eyes brightened. ‘Yes, I suppose it should be me that does that, shouldn’t it?’
‘We’ll see you later, then,’ Rebus said, leading Bliss and Robison from the room.
Once they were settled at a table, Rebus asked Bliss about Gregor Magrath’s electrical skills.
‘He could change a light bulb,’ Bliss said. ‘Not sure I’d trust him to wire a plug.’
Rebus explained about the van. ‘Has he got any relatives up there?’
‘None that I know of.’
‘He’d have said, wouldn’t he? I mean, the two of you have kept in touch — you’ve been to his house. .’
‘On the other hand, it might explain why he headed north rather than retiring somewhere with a bit of sun.’
‘Suppose so.’
Robison bit into her apple, having turned down Rebus’s offer of biscuits or crisps. ‘Could just be someone with the same surname,’ she offered between chews.
‘Could be,’ Rebus agreed.
‘Meantime,’ she went on, ‘while the three of us are here, maybe we could decide where we want to go for our night out. .’
58
That evening, Rebus met Siobhan Clarke at the Oxford Bar. They took a table in the back room and Rebus asked her if there was any more news from Inverness.
‘The wheels are grinding,’ she told him. ‘More conscripts have been drafted in. Dempsey’s widening the search area — locals are queuing up to help, along with a full complement of hunky fire-fighters.’
Rebus thought back to the original MisPer cases — lots of legwork, most of it so there could be no accusation of slacking.
‘Thing is,’ he cautioned, ‘one of those locals could be hiding something.’
‘She knows that. Every team of civvies has one of our lot attached, with orders to watch out for anyone acting nervous or odd.’
‘And all this in the hope of finding clothes and belongings?’
‘They have to be somewhere.’
Rebus nodded slowly and asked her if she’d spoken to Dempsey. Clarke nodded back, lifting her drink.
‘I could see she wanted to ask me why I hadn’t taken it to
‘But she didn’t?’
‘Just said she’d arrange for Hammell to be swabbed.’
‘How did she react when you told her Annette and Hammell had been lovers?’
‘A slight raising of the eyebrows.’
‘And your source. .?’
‘Remains confidential.’ Clarke paused. ‘There’s always a chance the hair
‘In which case, it becomes useful again,’ Rebus agreed.
She took another sip of her drink. ‘By the way, I phoned that electrician’s — no answer. Still reckon it’s a coincidence?’
‘Peter Bliss has stayed in touch with Gregor Magrath. Doesn’t see him as a sparky and isn’t aware of any relatives in the area.’ He thought for a moment, then reached for his phone.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘Jim Mellon — just remembered I’ve got his number here.’
It was Mellon’s wife who answered. Her husband was in one of the barns and wouldn’t be back for a while. Rebus gave her his number and asked if Mellon could phone him back.
‘Nothing I can help you with, then?’ she enquired.
‘Actually, maybe you can. It’s just that Mr Mellon was on TV earlier. .’
‘He’s getting too much of a taste for it, if you ask me.’
‘I was wondering about a van I saw parked in the farmyard behind him. It had the name Magrath on the side. I think it belongs to an electrician. .?’
‘Kenny Magrath,’ she stated.
‘Kenny Magrath,’ Rebus repeated for Clarke’s benefit. ‘Lives in Rosemarkie, does he?’
‘That’s right.’
‘It’s just that I know another Magrath in Rosemarkie, name of Gregor.’
‘Might be the brother.’
‘The brother?’ Rebus’s eyes were on Clarke as he spoke.
‘I’m sure Kenny’s mentioned a brother.’
‘That must be it,’ Rebus said.
‘Do you still want Jim to phone you?’
‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You’ve been a great help, Mrs Mellon.’
Rebus ended the call, eyes still fixed on Siobhan Clarke.
‘So?’ she said.
‘So Gregor Magrath retires and buys a place up north — despite the fact that he and his wife were always after holidays in the sun. .’
‘Making the Black Isle an odd choice.’
‘Unless he has family there — which he does. But how come he never mentions as much to Peter Bliss? Even when Bliss visited, the brother never cropped up.’
‘Maybe they’d had a falling-out somewhere down the line. It’s not unknown in families.’
‘But there were photos on the wall unit — a mum and dad with a couple of young kids, plus the same kids
